Point of View
by gundam06serenity
Summary: Things are not always as they appear to be… raped when he was still a child, it should have broken him. Instead, it made him stronger, gave him a purpose, gave him a cause. But is this cause really what he wanted, really what he was willing to fight for?
1. Chapter 1

Point of View

Gundam06serenity

Gundam wing

Yaoi, angst, romance

Various pairing

Disclaimer-I do not own any of the smexey, smexey bois…. Weelll, not in this reality, anyway -

Summary Things are not always as they appear to be… raped when he was still a child, it should have broken him. Instead, it made him stronger, gave him a purpose, gave him a cause. But is this cause really what he wanted, really what he was willing to fight for? When did it all go wrong…?

Chapter One: Memories Part I

Harsh, laboured breathing echoed, panting, screaming out his location.

"e's this way!"

Footsteps, pounding, multiplying; the sound of an entire army on his heels. His own smaller, younger feet speeding up, trying to aid him in his escape.

Thud!

Heart racing, he scrambled, hands and knees scratching, catching on the rough metal floor, a loose bolt tearing a chunk of flesh out of his knee, a dark stain creeping across scuffed, muddied trousers, as he tried, desperately, to make it into the shadows, to safety, before it was too late.

"Ack!"

He let out a startled gasp, eyes wide, as a large, calloused hand mercilessly tightened around the back on his pale, clammy neck, another firmly squeezing his wrists together at the small of his back.

He could feel the bones grating together, could almost hear them screaming out in protest to the rough treatment, crying out in sympathy, for they knew not what was coming, not really.

"I've got 'im"

Strong, scarred arms hauled his slender, shorter frame up, dragging him back, back out into the artificially sunlight clearing.

Perfectly straight, clean white teeth harshly bit the inside of his lips. Cherubim, cherry bow lips pursed tightly together, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him, refusing to let them know just how much it hurt already.

"Bring 'im over 'ere!"

He sagged, allowing his body to become deadweight. If they were going to do this to him, he sure as hell wasn't going to help them in the slightest. If the kicking and biting hadn't served any purpose, save to both amuse his captors companions, and extremely piss off the man currently crushing his wrists, then he saw no point in lowering himself to screaming or, heaven forbid, begging for mercy.

"Ooo, e's a pretty one, aint 'e?"

Yet another pair of grimy, large hands grasped at his pale, once clean angular face, tracing high cheekbones with a grubby, bitten nail.

He flinched, as the taller, older mans rancid breath clouded over him. Barely resisting the urge to gag, he jerked his head backwards, trying to escape his vile touch. This only seemed to amuse them yet again. This time, the grip returned, much harsher, bighting into the delicate porcelain coloured expanse, another hand yanking at his hair, pulling his head back so he would be forced to meet his captors gaze.

Finally, something in him clicked. His eyes widened in horror.

A wide, vicious grin spread across his captors face.

He glanced around, eyes wild, noting the near identical looks on the faces of each and every single one of his soon to be tormentors faces.

All save one.

Past the group of no more than a dozen filthy, rapidly becoming half-dressed men, was a boy. Younger than him, by a handful of years, or so he would guess. Not that he could really tell from that distance.

Wide, curious emerald cut through him, piercing him to his very core, as their owner, a small, gangly boy, no older than five, sat amongst crates upon crates, overflowing with half-dismantled weapons and ammunition. Tiny, slender hands quickly and methodically cleaned each and every weapon set out besides him, as he watched the events unfolding before him.

Crack!

His head jerked to the side, the slap resounding in his ears, cheek throbbing. Tears began to well in his eyes. He fought against them, refusing, again, to allow them the satisfaction. He was better than this-he would not let them think that he was weak!

"Back with us now, eh, pretty? 's not the same unless you's payin attention, now, is it?"

Another pair of hands descended on him, then another, and another. One released his wrists, only to bind them, tighter, this time with rope, biting into his wrists in no time, tying them tight, taunt above his head, so he had to stand on tiptoes so as to not have his entire weight held by the thin, frail bones, still not yet fully developed.

One searched his pockets, finding the small silver penknife he had with him, his only protection. It seemed foolish now, that he had ever thought that the small implement could be of any use.

Another ripped at his clothes, sending a spray of small, rounded buttons across the artificial grass, the small disks quickly hiding amongst the neat, immaculate blades.

"Ooo, 'm going to enjoy this, pretty. You just stay there, like a good boy, an' we might even consider keepen you."

He flinched the first time, when the first pair of hands descended. He only allowed himself the weakness once. Only the first time.

tbc


	2. Memories II

Point of View

Chapter Two Memories II

- Quick Authors notes: As fanfiction . net only allows M ratings, this fic will, in later chapters, have scenes edited or removed completely, as I plan to write my first gundam wing Nc17/ R at the very least. I will provide links to the new site on which I have been updating on for the past year or so, since aff desided to deleat my account, before I had had the chance to save the few new stories I had posted on there, but had not had the chance to back-up before my computer died. Thank-you for the reviews, it is wonderful to see a few people remember me -

He flinched, as the first pair of hands descended on him, struggling with himself. He wanted so badly to close his eyes, to clench his teeth, and withdraw until it was all over. He wanted to look his attackers, his rapists, the-the paedophiles, in the eye, as they did things to him that no nine year old should ever understand, let alone witness.

He did try, though, valiantly, to burn the faces of each and every one of those men into his memory. He needed to- for his own sanity, for his own piece of mind.

Back straight, shoulders as set as his painful, already chafing restraints would allow, cold, accusing eyes meeting those of his first. The greedy, lust filled, murky depths of the man who would steel his virginity from him, who would leave him torn and in pain for the next man, and the next, and the next, until they were all sated, and he had lost track, lost all sense of time.

Large, tanned, calloused hands. Rough in and by themselves, with dark, silky hair trailing down from his arms, across his wrists, creeping to the edges of his little fingers. Grime- weeks worth from the looks of it, etched into his skin, clinging, filling his bitten, splitting nails. They grasped roughly at the twin, rosy nubs adorning his chest, twisting, pinching.

His breathing became laboured as he played with the tiny, swollen nubs, a thin, faint swell of blood rising from the abused flesh, slowly trickling down the child's pale, lean stomach, making it as far as his lower ribs, before a slimy, uncomfortably warm, wet tongue licked it up, tracing the faint, sticky path back up to its origins, before nibbling gently.

His eyes widened, as he fought the urge to squirm. He preferred the harsh treatment to this strange, new torment. It felt as though butterflies were trying to fight their way out of his stomach, a strange, tingling feeling spreading down from his stomach, through his groin.

"Ah!" He let out a whimper, eyes darting down to meet smirking murky orbs, stained, browning teeth flashing from behind chapped, cracked lips, as they tightened, worrying at the little bud that they had captured, clamping down on it, not satisfied until he could taste blood once again.

"Ge' on wit' it! We don't got all night!"

One of the others called out.

He rose his head shakily to see the man who he guessed would be next. He had long, stringy brown hair, and a hansom enough face, if not for the puckered, jagged scar stretching from his temple to eyebrow. He had already shirked his trousers, tight muscle shirt still clinging to his broad-shouldered frame. One hand cupped himself gently through the thin cotton fabric still covering him, the other pulling none too gently on his length, the tip peeking over the top of once-white, tight briefs.

"I found 'im, I get firs' go" he replied, releasing the purpling, swollen nub from between chipped teeth, fingers replacing them seconds later, tracing the wet, tender flesh. His other hand trailed southwards.

He could hear cat calls, hoots and cheering. He saw his own pathetic little pocket knife being passed forward. The thought crossed his mind that, perhaps, he should have listened to the advise the man in the store had given him- that he should have kept the blade sharp, or not at all.

The man struggled to slice through the damaged, muddied material. The cut ended up being jagged, his flesh taking more damage than the material itself. He ended up ripping the rest of it off, growing impatient with the virtually useless trinket he had been trying to use.

He could literally feel their eyes on him-on one part of his anatomy in particular. He could feel the mans moist, damp breath through the thin white cotton separating them, the only remaining protection between them. He could smell his rancid, heavy breath.

He looked down at the man, trying to ignore what was about to happen to him. He couldn't understand, not really. He noted, curiously, that the other mans neither regions looked strange, very different from his own. It was covered in dark, course, curly hair, for one, and appeared to be red, purpling and swollen, as though he had hit it or something. It vaguely looked like his hand had, he mused, when it had gotten caught in the door. It had been so painful and sore for days, tender for weeks after, until the mottled, angry colour had faded into a sickly green-yellow.

It jutted out at an odd angle, too, and appeared to be oozing. Puss, maybe? If the wound was bad enough to turn that colour and swell to that size, it only stands to reason that it most likely would have gotten infected, and that must have started to burst. Maybe that was why he had removed his trousers, to ease the pain. But then... why had all of them done the same? And how on earth did they all acquire the same injuries? It was too much of a coincidence, wasn't it?

Tbc

Review Responses:

MouseyCoon - Sorry for the delay in updates Hope you still read on!

Li Nika - Why, thank you! le blush Here's another new chapter

LadyCyllan - I swear that your username seems familliar! What a lovely long review! I am so glad someone liked it--on another site, I got complaints that it was 'offputting' and to 'just damn well tell them who it is already' .. I hate to dissapoint m'lady, but I'm not making any promises, but I will tell you what I gold gundam-wing-universe . net readers -- it is not our favourite L2 streetrat. I've overdone him just a lil' bit, and decided to try out using one of my other favourite characters for a change. I do hope you will review again!


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